Pay Attention
by haganenobeato
Summary: Immobilized from his wound and his only free hand constrained to the hospital bed post, he watches her as his heart, mind, and body play the cruelest tug-o-war. Lust!Riza. PLEASE take note of the warning. Not your typical smut.


Please heed the rating! This does contain strong sexual content including non-con. Inspired by the fic my dear friend LonePiper wrote. I'd definitely go check out "What the Heart is Full of" if you want...not as smutty content.

An exercise of sorts. Enjoy~

* * *

He struggles with this inevitability.

Roy watches the wool pant skirt flutter to the tile floor, followed by the smooth removal of the military-issue womens jacket. He's caught watching the show put on for him. With its back turned to him, Lust probably thinks he's enjoying this judging by her bemused eyes flashing his way.

He struggles with this dark and twisted sense of humor the world possessed. And how useless it's always been to eradicate that raw emotion for her, always at the precipice of clawing its way out through bone, tissue, and flesh. It remains as the vestige of his deconstructed dream in holding her, caressing her porcelain face, layering kisses on the soft skin of the hardened woman underneath. All that effort in calculated distances and measure words and it's thrown back in his face. He can practically hear the ominous laughter.

The clasp of the brown clip clicks. Golden hair fans across the back of her dark turtleneck and it runs her fingers through it, tousling out to make her- **it** look more feral.

He hears the clink of a belt and a muffled unbuttoning. It thumbs the hem of her pants to dispose of the uniform, but gravity steps in as it bunches at the ankles. She lowers to free herself of the black underwear she donned that day. To his surprise, the skin of Lieutenant appears unscathed, unmarred despite the dangerous years of her chosen profession. The muscles tighten like cable cords and slither across the surface of her skin as it kicks off the uniform to the wayside. Abominably and without restraint, he eyes his adjutant's legs from the toned Soleus arch to strong calf muscles into the dip into the back of her knee and widening into firm hamstrings, admiring the taut curve of her backside.

Immobilized from his wound and his only free hand constrained to the hospital bed post, he watches her as his heart, mind, and body play the cruelest tug-o-war.

"Enjoying this, Colonel?"

"Sure," he intoned.

Lust eyes him skeptically, pacing towards him. He flinches from the fingers that travel from the top of his knee to the convergence of his legs. They ghost over him at first, only the barrier of thin hospital clothing between them. It cups him then grips him to confirm the success of its endeavors. An involuntary grunt escapes him and it nods with approval. "Try not to lie to yourself, it'll only make this soiree more enjoyable for all three of us."

He glowers at her, earning him a wink.

Her arms cross at opposite ends at the hem of the form-fitting turtleneck. She breathes out as the shirt peels off of her skin, tossing onto the bedside chair.

This is the most of her skin he's seen since the burning of her back. He hates that it's presented to him in an erotic manner than he's failing at combatting.

What would disgrace her more, looking away or continuing his watch?

It stings the back of his throat which is now dry from this malevolent meeting. He tries to resist the shock zigzagging down his body to his groin as she releases her brassiere, allowing the gentle slopes of her breasts to lay bare. He feels the escaping feeling of his breath as he glances at the sculptured beauty that is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. The only distinction from her and what stands before him is the twisted expression she is forced to bear.

And the Ourobous tattoo.

The dark violet ink contrasts against the pale of her skin. The snake eating it's own tail, curving with the camber of her chest.

"Eyes up here, soldier." His gaze is forced to it as it straddles him, her stolen face leering at him with a wolfish smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. The milk chocolate hue of her eyes darkens, possessed by a homunculus he somehow failed to kill and therefore failed to protect her.

It begins to move Riza's hips with tortuously slow rhythm.

It stimulates sensations unwelcome and provocative.. He clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes in attempt to think of anything else. The news. The doctor's name.. The number of hairs a dog's tail. The atomic weight of Barium.

Roy is suddenly yanked from his thoughts; a tuft of his hair is pulled back.

"Colonel, please focus." It says with her borrowed voice, with the right inflection, with the right stare. The shirt clasped together by cheap plastic is ripped open, exposing his wound bandaged at his left.

"Oh, did I do that?" She kisses her hand and rubs lightly above the dressing. "I'm so sorry, sir."

It unnerves him, it unsettles him. He takes a hard swallow and steels himself, chanting in his mind again and again that this isn't her. He's startled when another hand finds the bottom of his jaw and slithers up to the back of his head. She leans in, warm breath to his ear and he closes his eyes - his own breath hitching.

"Don't ruin it for me, you'll ruin it for her," Lust purrs. She moves her hips again and the tension coiling in his abdomen creates a mixture of pain and pleasure, and frankly, he'd prefer to deal with just one. "You know how much she wants this."

His heart pounds at his chest. Blood is rushing and he doesn't like where it's going.

"What'll it take, hmm?" She speaks against the taut skin of his neck and straightens her posture. "What'll it take to convince you that you have your Lieutenant right here?" Lust grasps his free hand, he winces as she does, and gently slides up the exposed thigh to the bone of her hip, the curve of her waist, until he reaches the underside of breast. Her hand guides his to cup her breast as an index finger is isolated, moving back and forth over her erect peak. She notices his temporary trance and grins. "For the taking."

"Get off me." He manages but it isn't the commandeering voice he found. It was unsure, near coaxed and subdued.

This only amused her more. "Where are those eyes?" She coos. "Those dark eyes so full of confidence and fire."

Without warning, her hands cradle his jaw and she leans with eyes half-lidded. Her lips feather over his.

Roy jerks his head to the side, but the movement jostles her hair. Her scent wafts into him. The smell of carnauba from her gun wax stiffens him more than he'd like and the harsher notes of nitroglycerin thrusts a familiarity of a fair-haired sniper. It confuses him and it doesn't go unnoticed.

With a gentle touch, she tilts his head back to her.

To his despair, he sees her. Her sharp bangs mingling with his, her pert nose closing in, eyelashes feathering over the peak of her cheekbone, she sues once more for his surrender into her lips.

The warmth of it closes his eyes. The plush flesh intermingles with his and the increasing moisture pushes him further into defeat. The betrayal of his body reaches new levels as his mouth works in collusion with the lustful kiss. The minty bergamot from her morning tea lingers on her tongue.

Her taste permeates his senses, her scent consumes him, and he is almost lost.

Her fingers curls around the tendrils of his hair, outwardly enjoying the marriage of their lips. He feels her other knowing hand traverse down behind her position from she straddles him and teases with an eager touch of his groin.

A growl rumbles in the back of his throat and she smiles against him.

He pinches his brow in disgust with himself. Mentally preparing for the sharp pain, he reels his arms back slowly with nerves prickling unpleasantly. He draws in breath through his nose and thrusts against her sternum and bucks his hip sideways to detach her from him.

It catches her by surprise and her body falls to the floor, back first. It grunts in disapproval and annoyance. "Oh darling, why would you hurt me like that?"

Roy is too caught up with his nerves his entire right side to answer her. He succeeds in not only stopping her but the throbbing switches from inside his pants to the seared stab wound that manages to singe the nerves of his entire left side.

"After you were responding so well, Colonel Mustang," It admonishes, rounding the bed to his weaker side. "It's no matter."

His eye opens to a mere slit.

She yanks the covers and they gather at the foot of the hospital cot. Her fingers grab the hem of the excuse for pants. He tries to rebuff her grip, but the excruciating pain nails him to the bed. Unbothered, she continues and his skin - no, all of him is exposed to the cold of a dimly lit hospital room.

He says nothing, trying to quell the ragged breathing. The springs creak with her added weight at the foot of the bed.

Applying slight pressure under her fingers, she maneuvers her hands up his thighs and grabs a hold of his backside, pulling him further down.

He watches in horror and guilty anticipation dips her head closer to him. His breath quickens and the teeth mash into each other as she wets his shaft from the base to the tip with her tongue. "Stop this."

She doesn't listen. Her hot mouth takes in his tip and a playful tongue toys with his head, sucking slightly. Her mouth opens a little to take in the rest of him in her mouth, warm fluids glistening his skin. She grips the base and continues with the display of this torturous enactment and his treasonous reactions to her role. The nerves electrify throughout his head and leave a tingling sensation behind. In the middle of his labored breath in response to her assault on him, he can almost hear himself groaning. Any movement of his lower limbs, however slight, is held down by her legs.

He stares at the white tile of the hospital ceiling and curses the enjoyment, this deceiving pleasure at the expense and abuse of his Lieutenant's body. Each time he is at the cusp of composure, that tongue flicks or the enclosure tightens at her will or whatever atrocious tricks she performs with Riza's mouth. He's already harden back to where she wants him.

And fuck, he refuses to look down. Roy knows that his mind will play tricks on him again because it is _her,_ after all. The woman he burned for, the woman he yearned for.

He gasps for breath as her hands dig into his ass for a better grip.

She guides him deeper into her throat for an overwhelming sensation that throws his head back and she succeeds in producing a low moan from him. He feels the vibrations of her vocal chords as she responds similarly.

Roy feels the familiar contraction within him and his toes curling to further communicate the impending orgasm. There's a tingling numbness in his suspended shoulder, but its quickly forgotten by the waves of his nerves going haywire down below.

He finally realizes how much his breath quickened when she stops. Ultimately, he makes the mistake of glancing at her. She looks at him with a bit lip and a libidinous desire that makes him twitch. He tries for his legs again, but she climbs over him. Her moist flesh lays on him and the difference is _**so**_ evident that the impulse to thrust in her almost overcomes him.

A conniving grin splits her face and the jarring image of it on the Lieutenant's face assists him in fighting back. He can see the realization hitting Lust as she turns her attention to what softens between her legs and looks back at him. She hums disapprovingly and stops any movement. "Well then." She says simply.

It confuses him. He desperately tries to latch onto that feeling, until his body goes rigid as she reveals what she had in store for him.

Her arms raise to gather the cascade of blonde hair, holding it up with one palm to resemble the Lieutenant's bun. She looks back at him with demure eyes and blushed cheeks.

Everything short circuits.

"Colonel."

He twitches in the wrong places. He stares at the pleading look that would have been hers, or is hers? Which is it.

She lifts herself using the strength of her legs and a hand on his hip, closing her eyes and sighing. "I want this. I need this."

"No, please stop." He pleads, swallowing hard and shutting his eyes. He feels the belt holding his arm up loosen and the relief with his arm falling follows soon after. Unfortunately it's pinned down before he can do anything useful with it.

The slick of her core slides up and down him.

"I said - ah-hrm - to stop."

"But you don't want me to, sir."

"You aren't her," he decried in a low voice, sucking in breath as a prayer for stability and clarity.

She hums.

Her hips lifts and his tip sits at her entrance.

The question remained, which would disgrace her more?

She looks delighted in his horror as he anticipates. "If you aren't fucking your Lieutenant-" She forces him to enter her and her face expresses the thrill of her own euphoria. With a breathy gasp, she continues, "Then who _are_ you defiling with your apparent eagerness?"

He doesn't want this.

He doesn't want this.

The guilt is completely shut out by the slick warmth that enveloped him. He clenches down hard on his jaw, fingernails dig into his skin of his palm. He is intoxicated by her. The slow movement of her hips send him reeling and he can no longer think straight - where he is or the situation at hand. If he opens his eyes, he loses. If he keeps them shuts, he will inevitably be coaxed into a releasing into her or wherever this vixen pleases. He doesn't want to admit the obvious defeat, this glaring crime - his sin with her body. He can't even divulge into it as her hips drive him into her.

"If it isn't me-"

He hears her voice closer to his ear and his hands lift by her direction and fondle the billowing mounds of her breasts. He sighs, strained. "You're not-"

"If I'm not Riza Hawkeye-"

Deeper.

"Would your own-"

Harder.

"Hips- _ah,_ move-"

Faster.

"- with such vigor if I wasn't?"

In the complete deconstruction of his resolve and his dignity, his fingernails dug into her hips on their own accord.

"That's a good boy."


End file.
